Major Lazer's video is a perfect illustration of the way black women are portrayed.

As a music lover born in 1989, I was so excited when the digital television revolution came to our house and gave me access to limitless music videos. Just six years later, when I turned 17, I stopped watching them, sick of the misogyny and racism I was seeing.

In these videos, women are usually depicted as objects that are sexually available for men at all times. What's more, the bodies of black and minority ethnic (BME) women are sexualised in specific ways, seen as inherently sexual and animalistic, with a heavy focus on body shape, particularly the posterior. The black woman's "butt" has been considered a distinct point of fascination for centuries. Just search for Saartjie Baartman on the internet if you need proof.

This preoccupation continues today and is there in the now-infamous performance by Miley Cyrus's at the recent VMA party. While she was herself sexualised (and went on to be the accessory in Robin Thicke's performance), she in turn sexualised the faceless black women with a strong and intentional focus on their behinds.

Similarly, in her video for Work, the status of Iggy Azalea (a young white woman) is presented in such a way that it creates a "pimp/ho" dynamic between herself and the black women performing with her. She is placed front and centre in a fur coat, while two black women twerk behind her on a truck. This is a clear example of an artist accessorising with black women's bodies. Miley Cyrus has form in this area, too. In the video for her single, We Can't Stop, black women appear (often twerking) in scenes that are absolutely separate from the rest of the video's story.

A perfect example of the way black women are portrayed is found in the video for Major Lazer's Bubble Butt. It depicts a giant alien-black-woman coming down from the sky and inflating the buttocks of three white women, via the anus, with tentacles produced from her mouth. What appears to be a twerking competition then ensues. BME women, if present at all, become part of a homogenous ethnically ambiguous and exoticised group.

These representations are not limited to one genre of music. The video for indie rock quartet Wraith by Peace also depicts racialised sexual objectification. The four white male band members are sitting, blankly staring at two scantily clad black women, with heavy camera focus on their backsides.

This is not a competition of as to who has it worse, black or white women. We all have complex identities, made up of separate yet indivisible parts. As such, we all experience discrimination in different ways. As a young black woman, my experiences of racism and sexism are not mutually exclusive.

Gender and racial inequality continue to exhibit themselves in new ways. Now they appear to be considered fashionable, ironic, entertaining or even aesthetically highbrow. Robin Thicke's video for Blurred Lines may have been temporarily banned from YouTube, but Justin Timberlake's Tunnel Vision, which contained fully naked women, was allowed to stay thanks to its "artistic" qualities.

In many ways, inequality has thrived on social media. Fortunately, we can also use these platforms to create positive change. A joint project run by the women's groups EVAW, OBJECT and Imkaan, where I work aims to encourage young women to speak out about racism and sexism in music videos via a multimedia website. A diverse group of women aged from 17 to 24 years old will be involved in the development of the site and a dedicated mobile app. Such campaigns are a valuable first step in challenging the attitudes seen so often on our screens.

Laura Bates: Violence against women is used as a marketing gimmick, Miley Cyrus's dancing is connected to rape and job adverts make sexist jibes – and that's just the sexism we hear about. The culture of misogyny is ingrained and must be tackled